第41部分(第6/8 頁)

ed；　I　had　been　on　my　guard　almost　from　the　beginning　of　the　interview。　Something　of　masquerade　I　suspected。　I　knew　gipsies　and　fortune…tellers　did　not　express　themselves　as　this　seeming　old　woman　had　expressed　herself；　besides　I　had　noted　her　feigned　voice；　her　anxiety　to　conceal　her　features。　But　my　mind　had　been　running　on　Grace　Poole—that　living　enigma；　that　mystery　of　mysteries；　as　I　considered　her。　I　had　never　thought　of　Mr。　Rochester。

“Well；”　said　he；　“what　are　you　musing　about？　What　does　that　grave　smile　signify？”

“Wonder　and　self…congratulation；　sir。　I　have　your　permission　to　retire　now；　I　suppose？”

“No；　stay　a　moment；　and　tell　me　what　the　people　in　the　drawing…room　yonder　are　doing。”

“Discussing　the　gipsy；　I　daresay。”

“Sit　down！—Let　me　hear　what　they　said　about　me。”

“I　had　better　not　stay　long；　sir；　it　must　be　near　eleven　o’clock。　Oh；　are　you　aware；　Mr。　Rochester；　that　a　stranger　has　arrived　here　since　you　left　this　morning？”

“A　stranger！—no；　who　can　it　be？　I　expected　no　one；　is　he　gone？”

“No；　he　said　he　had　known　you　long；　and　that　he　could　take　the　liberty　of　installing　himself　here　till　you　returned。”

“The　devil　he　did！　Did　he　give　his　name？”

“His　name　is　Mason；　sir；　and　he　es　from　the　West　Indies；　from　Spanish　Town；　in　Jamaica；　I　think。”

Mr。　Rochester　was　standing　near　me；　he　had　taken　my　hand；　as　if　to　lead　me　to　a　chair。　As　I　spoke　he　gave　my　wrist　a　convulsive　grip；　the　smile　on　his　l